For her
by Skaihai
Summary: Basically alternate motives, in regards to Peter's betrayal. Peter Pettigrew/Bellatrix Lestrange One shot. Please review! This is my first fic ever, actually the product of an assessment for a University, English and New Media studies paper, at AUT, NZ.


The weight of the small scrap of parchment in Peter Pettigrew's palm was impossibly immense. He worried his fingernails, her swirly scrawl bore down upon him.

"12 o'clock tonight."

There was a part of him, that wished she had never curiously turned up on his doorstep not three weeks ago. There were other parts of Peter that refused to query the quality of his meagar life if she haven't've.

They had never met prior, but he knew her face from the "wanted" posters. Knew her name from the Order meetings. He knew why that tattoo adorned her arm, a constant reminder of what she was. And he knew what she was.

Death Eater.

Sometimes, he thought that he had never before come across any other creature quite as wondrous, and that beauty could not possibly exist any where she wasn't.

Sometimes, anticipating her arrival, he had never before experienced guilt consuming, racking his body, swelling up within his chest like the angry ruffling of feathers.

And sometimes, he feared her.

The night she apparated into his life, dolorous, she flung herself at him. She sobbed so hard, body shaking so hard you'd almost expect to feel a breeze peal off her. Peter had never had anyone cry on his shoulder. He wasn't the type of man people would generally approach at all.

Profession. Her growing fear of Voldemort. Aching to leave the Death Eaters, to join The Order. She had come to Peter, for his help. Hoping he would believe her. Knowing he would.

He had said she could be a member vicariously through him; she had been delighted and kissed him. That was how it started.

Lately, it seemed she called upon him more and more often. Letting her read The Order's weekly minutes a small price to pay for her company, for the she was radiant. Luminous. She molted allure. Wore amity as a second skin.

Sometimes, in exchange, she would give him snippets of information regarding Voldemort to pass on to Sirius and James, but Peter cared not for The Order, or "He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named". He cared only for Bellatrix.

And yet, Peter couldn't help but wonder why a cacophony of all things bewitching and sublime, and he was a tiny dismal drizzle.

Peter shared stories of his time at Hogwarts with James, Sirius and Remus.

James or Sirius laughing at his expense, Remus was never cruel to him, but he never once stood up for him either.

Illegally becoming unregistered Animagi, James and Sirius becoming a dog and stag, Peter's efforts fabricating a mere rat, risking his life every full moon to protect Remus when he transformed into a werewolf.

Being told to shut up, by Sirius every time he opened his mouth, or punched especially hard in the arm by James, or the way Remus was never once cruel to him, but never once stood up for him either.

Despite her want to join the order, his stories made Bella hiss through her teeth. She remembered seeing the four of them at Hogwarts.

"I always hated them. Especially cousin Sirius. He's so. Grimy. But I remember, thinking you were far too good to be trailing along after them."

This made Peter feel an unusual kind of delight inside. Nobody had ever preferred him to his friends.

That July, Lily and James Potter had a son.

Harry.

Sirius vaunted, flashing about photos of the child at Order meetings, his eyes brimming with pride. And why shouldn't he've been proud, Peter thought, as Remus sitting next to him told stories of the boy to Fabian and Gideon Prewett. He was after all the God Father of said boy.

Peter hadn't even seen James' son. He had only found out of the birth 3 days after at the meeting. Sirius and Remus were at the birth. A little piece of him flaked off and shattered inside knowing this.

The very next time that Bellatrix called, it was his turn to fling himself at her. He blurted out what he knew he ought not to've.

About the boy.

Small greasy tears pooled up in Peters crumpled eyes, and he clung to her.

"And they never told you?" She cooed, her expression condoling, as she unclenched his hands hastily from her dress, expression clumsy, and held them.

He sniffled and nodded, his face reminiscent of that of a bullied child, informing it's mother. Bellatrix looked away. There was a long silence, aside from Peter's choked sobs.

"I can't believe it. After everything you did for that lot," Her gaze gradually returning to his face, something different in her eyes, which Peter mistook for outrage and compassion, "And they didn't tell you? Didn't invite you to see the child? Why, the number of times you saved that Potter boy's skin, his kid wouldn't even be here if not for you."

Peter couldn't help but agree. Animosity bubbled up in his chest, and his palms began to sweat in Bellatrix's hands.

"And the Godfather? Sirius?" She pushed on, her cousin's name coiling over her lips, he felt her hands constrict around his own at this, "Of all the ungrateful, pushy, arrogant little mongrels, they chose him?"

It was Peters turn to clench his hands. His tears had stopped.

She looked down at him, her eyes morphing from resentment to understanding. He watched her plum toned lips curl up at the sides.

"It isn't fair is it?" She chirped, shaking her head slowly "But it isn't fair to hold grudges either. Especially when there's a defenceless wee baby in the picture, now is it? I'll tell you what you should do, Peter. Go over to the Potters', take some flowers, go see the baby, and put all this behind you. After all little, uh, Harry, was it? Yes, little Harry, is the most important thing in this whole, uh, thing."

Peter felt his wrath extinguish, to be replaced by anguish. He nodded, eyes downcast.

"It's okay, I'll come with you if you're nervous. Let's go, shall we? Godrick's Hollow, is it?"

He nodded, and with that, they apparated out of Peter's lounge, leaving only a small contorted plume of black smoke behind.

Peter led her to their front gate. He trusted her enough to do so. She placed her hand on their letterbox, and smiled, stroking it softly. His brow furrowed, creasing, confused at her actions, but before having time to question, she thrust a makeshift bouquet into his hands, made up of flowers pilfered from the front gardens of various neighbours.

"Good luck, Peter," she said quietly, kissing him on the forehead, "I'll see you later."

With that, she too, became a puff of smoke, and was gone. He paused, then turned, and made his way to the door step. He knocked twice. Then hesitated. He knocked a third time.

The very next morning, Peter saw it. It was black and white. But mostly very black. The front page of the Daily Prophet Newspaper.

James was dead.

Lily was dead.

Harry was the boy who lived.

The paper hit the floor with a soft, rounded thud.

Sometimes, Peter felt that betrayal was not a strong enough word.

She still called that night. Part of him didn't want to open the door. Most of him had never been so happy to see her. And with puffy eyes he greeted her.

"I'm so sorry, Peter, I'm so, so sorry," Her eyes, too, were ashen, but she did not cry. "The dark lord, he found out I had been with you, he knows everything about our meetings, Peter. I don't know how, he just does. He always knows, Peter. He tortured me to get their location. He used the Cruciatus curse. I.. I just couldn't, Peter. I'm so sorry."

The morning after, he found himself on the front page of the Daily Prophet. His photo under the word "WANTED".

He had been identified by an anonymous source as being the last person to see the Potters alive.

The paper hit the wall with a surprisingly loud wallop.

Sometimes, there are no words at all.

Bellatrix took him to the Muggle city of London a few days later. She gave him a piece of parchment, with the names of six Death Eaters written on it. She told him, to go to the Ministry of Magic, which was a couple of blocks away, and to take the parchment and say that he visited that night, to see baby Harry, and to tell James that he had confirmed that the owners of said names were Death Eaters, as James had not been present at the Order's last meeting and that he just thought they ought to know. The visit had been innocence, and truthfully, he'd never known that the Dark Lord would call upon them. She said if he did this, the Ministry would leave him alone. And then they would leave together. He was so hopeful.

Peter never made it.

Sirius Black had appeared. Just. Out of no where.

Other than his shaggy black hair, Peter had never really understood why Sirius' animagus form was a dog. But upon seeing his old friend, teeth bared, on his haunches ready to pounce, growling every insult, Peter had no problem seeing why he was a hound.

He screamed things like "coward" and "traitor". Sirius wanted to kill him, right then and there.

Peter's terror grew, overflowing, spilling out over cobble stone. And in his rodent-like panic, he drew his wand, and used the Confringo spell.

In his flustered state, the explosion spell had back-fired, and hisindex finger, pressed against his wand, was blown off. In whirl of dust and smoke, he transformed into a rat, and fled.

Some time later, he would find out he had killed 12 by-standing muggles with that spell. That Sirius was arrested and thrown in Askaban Prison, an innocent man, for not only for Peter's apparent murder, but also for betraying the Potters.

Peter was still determined to make it to the ministry. To clear his name so he and Bella could leave together. Everything depended on this. And in his little rat body, he scurried along, tiny heart forever beating in his ears. Ka-thump. Ka-thump. Ka-thump. For-her. For-her. For-her.

He made it. But he feel fingers lace themselves around his abdomin. Shoved into a pocket. Dark. Musty. Taken home and given to a boy. Freckles. Calloused, sticky hands that pulled at fur. Pet. Suddenly Peter ceased to exist. He was Scabbers the rat.

He had been warned, that if one stayed in their Animagus form for an extended period of time, you may begin to lose yourself to the animal. Each day, Peter felt another tiny part of himself assimilate to the rat. Even still, though distant and distorted, he held onto his memory of her.

Time passes differently, more hurried, when you are small. 13 years slipped through his paws.

That night in the Shrieking Shack, having to face Remus and Sirius, was the worst night of Peters life, by far. And James' son. Harry. Who he'd all but forgotten. Who had his mother's eyes, and his father's everything else. Harry Potter had spared his life.

After escaping as vermin, the weight of becoming human for the first time in years splintered upon his fat, little body. She was all that consumed him. He had to free her. Something so magnificent shouldn't be caged.

Only one person could save Bellatrix from Azkaban.

And it wasn't Peter.

It would never be Peter.

The last night of the Triwizard Tournament, Peter killed a boy. He took Harry Potter's blood. He cut off his own right hand. All to restore Voldemort's body. All for her. To save her. He had no choice. For her, for her. The Dark Lord gave him a silver hand to replace what he had sacrificed.

Everything would be okay, now.

Everything he'd done, it was going to be worth it.

It was all for her.

For her, for her.

A few months later, Voldemort broke the ten Death Eaters out, including Bellatrix.

Infelicitous, she'd aged tilting on the brink of insanity. To Peter, she was still the most beautiful thing on the face of the planet.

Even if she avoided his gaze.

Even if she had looked slightly ill when she saw him again.

Even if she never spoke to him.

Peter was just happy to soak up her presence. He could only assume it was out of fear from betraying the Dark Lord to be with him all those years ago. If he could only get the chance to be alone with her.

Maybe they could still leave, and be together. Just like she said.

He never got her alone, though. Every time he saw her, he wanted to scream across the meeting that he loved her. That she shouldn't be here. That she should be with him. He gave up everything for her, and she should be with him.

But Peter wasn't even the sort of man to raise his voice.

He'd wait for her.

Bellatrix rarely smiled, and when she did, it wasn't for Peter, but for Voldemort. Peter decided, that if he could make his master happy, then Bellatrix would be happy too. Anything to make her smile.

Everything, for the Dark Lord, was falling into place, and the Death Eaters were now at the height of the second wizarding war. Peter, along the other Death Eaters, and Voldemort himself, had been staying at Malfoy Manor.

Potter and his friends, had been captured, and whilst Bellatrix was torturing the girl who came with him, Peter was sent to check on the Prisoners. Doing what he was told. Keeping the Dark Lord happy.

As he entered the dungeon, Harry and the Weasley boy tackled him. He wrapped his silver hand, around Potter's neck, to choke him, but in doing so, the boy spluttered the words that fractured his whole world.

"You're going to kill me? After I saved your life? You owe me, Wormtail!"

In that instant of hesitation, Peter saw James glaring up at him, through Lily's eyes. Peter released his grip. He couldn't kill them again. He wouldn't kill the boy. Not even for her.

He watched the silver hand spin around, uncontrolled, and began to throttle him.

Peter had defied his master.

He'd ruined everything

In his dying moments, Peter watched Harry try to save him, try to pry the hand from his throat.

He saw her lips, as they curled up at the corners. The incandescence of her eyes. Alabaster skin. Crooked tenderils of ebony. And a the lucid murmur that flickered over his lips.

"I love you."

And then.

Nothing.

Bellatrix and Voldemort stood alone in the dungeon.

The prisoners got away because Peter had gone and gotten himself killed.

She shifted her weight, tilted her head, gazed down at Peter's crumpled, bloated, lifeless body lay at their feet, and Bellatrix couldn't help but feel...

Nothing.

Or... Something.

She couldn't tell.

Peter was the grey zone.

Always had been.

But still...

Nothing.

If she hadn't followed orders, and pursued him, at first for information from the order, and then to find the Potters, he wouldn't be dead.

A lot of people wouldn't be dead.

But she didn't much care about the blood on her hands.

Couldn't be helped.

"Isn't it such a shame," The Dark Lord sneered out through the silence, startling her, "to lose somebody like Wormtail... What a wonderful pawn he made. But alas, these things will happen."

He looked at her with a callous grin, then put an icy arm around her shoulders. She looked up at him, cautiously. Nobody made her feel the way he did. Cautious. And. Other things.

"Thankyou, Bellatrix. He was a most useful gift indeed. You have done well." His lips, icey, scraping over her cheek, drawing out the smile that only ever crossed her face for him. With that, he swept away, leaving her alone with the corpse.

For a long while, Bellatrix stood quietly, just staring. Imeresed in herself.

Slowly, carefully, she stooped down, balancing on the balls of her feet. Paused, then pressed two fingers to her lips, and then dragged them across Peter's forehead, leaving a smear of violaceous lipstick behind.

She stood back up, paused again a moment. Her lips parted, as if to say something.

But there as nothing.

And then, in a swirl of her black dress, spun around, and climbed the stair case, back up to rejoin the only man she could ever have possibly have allowed herself to love.


End file.
